


Stone Cold Curse

by thisisdefinitelynotme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bad Puns, Cursed Dean, Curses, First Kiss, Fluff, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, POV Multiple, Sam Is So Done, Sam Ships It, Sam is Not Amused, Spells & Enchantments, The sarcasm is strong with this one, True Love's Kiss, or should I say amoosed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 18:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11087331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisdefinitelynotme/pseuds/thisisdefinitelynotme
Summary: So maybe it was also Dean’s idea to go around touching the artifacts without gloves, but Sam didn’t tell him not to. (Or maybe he did, and Dean just wasn’t paying attention, but whatever.)Yep, this was definitely Sam’s fault. Facts don’t lie.Regardless of fault though, the fact was that Dean was now cursed.So, in other words, just an average day in the life of a Winchester.





	Stone Cold Curse

**Author's Note:**

> *pushes this at you* here's some fluff I think this whole fandom needs right now. Unbeta'd, mistakes are mine

Somehow it was all Sam’s fault. It had to be.

Sure, so maybe it was Dean’s idea to “investigate and ascertain” (read: “play around with”) the multitudes of strange stuff and items found around the bunker, but hey - Sam did agree that it would be “educational” (read: “educational”, because the moose was a huge ass nerd).

So maybe it was also Dean’s idea to go around touching the artifacts without gloves, but Sam didn’t tell him not to. (Or maybe he did, and Dean just wasn’t paying attention, but whatever.)

Yep, this was _definitely_ Sam’s fault. Facts don’t lie.

Regardless of fault though, the fact was that Dean was now cursed.

So, in other words, just an average day in the life of a Winchester.

 

 

It all started this morning. It was Cas’ turn to go on a supply run, leaving Sam and Dean alone. After not having had a case in two days (and no current suspicious deaths), the two hunters were suffering from a severe case of restlessness. Netflix - and the Internet in general - was boring, there were no snacks or beer, and, well. All their friends were dead. So there wasn’t anyone to talk to, save each other, the angel (who was currently occupied, probably trying to discern which brand of honey was best), and the King of Hell (who… just, no).

In short, they were bored.

Until Dean had a eureka moment. He threw the napkin he had balled up at his brother, who was currently leaning back in his chair, floppy hair dangling down. “What, Dean?” Sam asked, not bothering to shift from the awkward-looking position.

“Let’s go look through the storage rooms.”

That got Sam’s attention. He picked up his head and squinted at Dean, who suddenly seemed - wait for it - _excited_ about something. Sam raised an eyebrow. “You want to… look through the storage rooms? Through all the junk and the files in them?”

“Not through the junk, Sam. Through the cool stuff.” There was a pause, where both brothers just looked at each other. Dean rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Sam. We can, uh, investigate and ascertain the objects in the rooms.”

“Gee, Dean, where’d you learn those ten dollar words?” Sam knew this was Dean-code for “I wanna play around with cool stuff.”

“Shut up, bitch.”

“Jerk.” But really, it wasn’t such a bad idea, and it could kill two birds with one stone - give them something to do, and legitimately let them see what kind of useful things they have yet to take advantage of. Sam shrugged. “I guess it couldn’t hurt. And it _would_ be educational.” Dean smiled like a little kid being told that he could have candy. “But Dean, we need to wear protective gloves.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” he said, already disappearing through the doorway.

Thirty minutes later found the boys without any trace of boredom. While some of the stuff truly was junk (“It really _is_ just a broken hanger, Dean, not the toothpick of Joan of Arc”), there were some really cool things to be found - like, for example, a key to unlock Narnia (Sam struggled to withhold jokes about being in the closet) and a mirror that morphed the faces and bodies of the people reflected by it into one being (which was scarier than actual hell).

Then Dean found the seemingly innocuous statuette that, upon further (ungloved) inspection, turned out to be an actual calcified human heart. Dean squeamishly put the thing down.

But not before it began to glow a soft red.

Sam wasn’t sure what was bigger, the heart’s aorta or Dean’s eyes. “What the hell did you do, Dean?”

The elder Winchester shook his head, hands raised in a defensive gesture in front of the glowing muscle, as though prepared for an attack (a _heart attack_ , if you will). “All I did was touch it, Sammy.”

Sam rolled his eyes, throwing an impressive bitch face (#34, or dammit-Dean-you-should’ve-listened-to-me, a classic) at his ungloved brother. Suddenly, a faint whining noise permeated the air of the storage room, and the red glow became brighter. Then, just as suddenly, the noise and the glow stopped. Rather anticlimactic.

“Do you feel any different, Dean?”

Dean patted his hands along his body, maybe checking for weird lumps that suddenly appeared, maybe trying to remember if he replaced his Zippo after the last salt ‘n burn (Sam couldn’t be sure anymore). Then he said, “No, I feel fine. I feel like I did before I touched the rock heart, that is. Maybe nothing happened?”

But let’s be honest, when do the Winchesters ever catch a break?

So, just to be safe, Sam checked the archives, and, well. “Congratulations, Dean. It’s a curse.”

Dean grumbled. “Is this one gonna kill me?”

It’s sad how casual that question was posed. “No, it expires twenty-four hours after the outset of symptoms.” Sam snickered when he read what those symptoms were.

“What is it, Sam? What am I gonna do? Recite Shakespeare? Write poetry? What?”

“No, this says that you’re, uh, you’re going to ‘show and express your deepest love to all you come across’.” By the widening of Dean’s eyes, he looked as though this was much worse than death. Which, to a guy that has died more times than he’s said “I love you”, it probably was.

“When’s it gonna hit?”

Sam consulted the archive. “Well, it starts with fainting -” As he spoke, Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed to the floor. The moose sighed, knowing that when Dean woke up in moments that he’d be an obnoxious lovebird. He decided to enjoy the little peace he had left for the next twenty-four hours.

Sam had never been lucky, for Dean’s eyes opened suddenly, and a huge smile broke out on his face. “Heya, Sammy!” Dean exclaimed with a childlike glee. Almost tripping over himself in his rush to stand, he embraced his brother with a strong grip. “Sam, I love you so much, brother. And I just love hugs.”

Awkwardly, Sam returned the embrace and the sentiment. Dean pulled away, eyes bright. “You’re the best, you know that?” His attention was suddenly diverted by all the relics surrounding them. “Wow, this stuff is super cool! I love all of our stuff.”

He made a move to grab another object, so Sam intervened. “C’mon, Dean, let’s go see what else you love in the bunker.” Without any objection, Dean agreed, allowing himself to be led back to the map room.

And so, the next two hours were spent with Dean constantly telling Sam how much he loved him, guns, knives, tables, chairs, whiskey, lamps… _everything._ Nonstop. He even almost cried with affection when he saw a picture of a chicken by happenstance on his phone (which led to his phone privileges being revoked).

Sam wasn’t sure who he was going to kill first, Dean or himself.

During this time, though, (when he wasn’t recording videos to be used as leverage), Sam managed to research what exactly was behind the stone heart. (“I just love it so much when you research, Sammy.” “Shut up, Dean.”) So, Elizabeth George was a Woman of Letters who was exceptionally proficient in the use of spells, curses, and enchantments. She found herself hoping to acquire the affections of one Grant Knightly, Man of Letters and master of swords and their efficient usage (interesting skill, considering his last name). By all accounts, Elizabeth was a badass, intelligent, head strong woman; and Grant was calculating, serious, and methodical. Elizabeth found herself in love with this man, and he was completely unwilling to "succumb to the same disease", as his own words said. Which was fine - the two carried on normally, despite the unrequited love. Then Grant Knightly was killed, in a duel no less, and he left his body to the experimentation of the Letters. Which is when Elizabeth George, in a show of the greatest irony, turned his "heart of stone" into an _actual_ heart of stone, and the bringer of the greatest (however brief) feelings of love. 

Oh, wonderful irony.

Then Sam happened upon three sentences not mentioned in the archives, in Elizabeth’s own words: “This is not a mere spell, it is an actual curse. Thus, the victim’s own heart shall itself calcify if, within the span of twenty-four hours, he or she has not shared a kiss with his or her own solitary true love. Otherwise, the victim shall return to original health and sanity.”

“These books are just so old and useful! I love them.” Dean, refusing under any circumstance to sit still, was now fawning over the books, taking out each individual one to express sentiment. There were thousands of freaking books.

He had no idea, nor did he probably particularly care in this moment, that he could very well die. He merely continued with his litany of book love.

Sam wondered how much Dean would love to be locked in the dungeon.

Twenty-two hours to go before Dean’s heart would turn to stone. Sam was now panicking. Who the hell was Dean’s “solitary true love”? And how were they going to find them in less than a day?

Without warning, the bunker door opened and closed, breaking Sam’s train of thought, and footsteps were heard coming down the stairs.

Castiel.

Oh, boy.

See, Sam had honestly forgotten about the angel in his (failing) efforts to keep Dean sane and contained. But now said angel had returned from his supply run, and Dean was sure to be all over him like an excited puppy. Because, well, Sam wasn’t an idiot, and he knew that Dean cared deeply (read: “ _profound bond_ ”) for Cas. Now Sam was going to have to explain to Cas about the curse, and Dean wasn’t purposefully trying to make you uncomfortable (for that was sure to happen), and you don’t have to tell him you love him back (even though you do, but that’s beside the point). Oh, and he was probably going to die, since we don’t know who actually deeply loves him.

A long day was about to become longer.

Sam should've warned the poor guy. But, on the other hand, maybe he should get some popcorn to watch the show that's sure to unfold...

Dean - and, consequently, Sam - followed the footsteps throughout the bunker into the kitchen; having not yet caught sight of Cas, the cursed hunter was excitedly exclaiming how much he absolutely loved when people visited the bunker.

They made it to the kitchen and saw Cas depositing ten grocery bags (angel strength is hella handy) on the counter. Sam, waiting in the doorway, braced himself for a scene -

“Hey, Cas.” Dean calmly strolled over to the angel, helping him properly place the groceries.

“Hello, Dean,” said Cas.

“Everything go well at the store?” Hamburger meat and two whole chickens passed through his hands into the fridge with no comment.

“I watched a man startle so badly he knocked over an entire display of paper towels. Humanity is truly fascinating to watch.” Both angel and human locked gazes for a moment then returned to the task at hand. “How was your time here? Have you found a case?”

Sam readied himself for the love-fest. Surely this would be it. “Nah, it’s been pretty calm here.”

And that was it.

Sam had to take a moment to pick his jaw up off the floor, because his brother was literally acting no different in Cas’ presence than how he usually is. Maybe the curse doesn’t work on angels? No, that wouldn’t be the case - many of the items Dean was fondling earlier were of a supernatural origin. Maybe it lifted early? Also unlikely, as Elizabeth George certainly knew her way around a curse. Then why -

The realization came like a load of bricks being poured on Sam’s head. As he watched both man and angel casually putting up groceries, it hit him that Dean didn’t act any different because he was already so in love with Cas that every action, cursed or not, exuded love.

Damn. Dean had it _bad_ for Cas.

Perhaps that was why Dean wasn’t professing his undying love for the potatoes - his feelings for the angel were completely overwhelming those of the curse.

_Damn._

_Cas_ was the one who could break the curse.

Sam sneezed randomly from his position in the doorway, catching the attention of the other two men. Which, well… Sam had never been a lucky man. At the same moment Cas said his customary, “Hello, Sam,” Dean nearly yelled, “Sammy! I just love how sneaky you can be sometimes. Your sneezes are the best, they sound like moose noises! It’s fantastic!” Leaving Cas to stare, eyes wildly shifting between the two Winchesters, wearing his what-the-hell-is-going-on-what-did-you-do-now expression, complete with his Maximum Eye Squint.

If Dean was a puppy, his tail would be wagging.

Now that the temporary stay in his curse was broken, he expressed emotion to all the items in the kitchen.

All. The. Items.

Probably leaving Cas wondering why Dean was suddenly misty eyed over a potato with an “uncanny resemblance to Chuck Norris, guys! It’s beautiful!”

When Dean grabbed the milk and hugged it tenderly, whispering, “Mi leche,” over and over, Cas apparently decided he’d had enough and roughly grabbed Sam by the elbow, leading him into the hallway, blue eyes bright with concern, bewilderment, and annoyance.

“Before you ask,” began the moose, “it’s not my fault. We were, um, messing around in one of the storage rooms, and he touched this calcified heart. It cursed him, you see, into expressing deep affection to everything. And I do mean _everything_.”

Cas rolled his eyes, obviously unsurprised that Dean would be the one to end up with such an ironic curse for him. “How long are we supposed to bear this?”

Sam gulped. “Well, let’s put it this way - if he doesn’t kiss his true love within the next twenty-one and a half hours, his heart is going to turn to stone.”

The angel’s cerulean eyes grew large. After a pause, he exclaimed, “How are we supposed to find his ‘true love’” - (insert angelic air quotes here) - “before time runs out?”

“Actually, I think we may already know who that is -” Sam abruptly cut off his sentence at the abrupt change in Castiel’s composure: his shoulders tensed, as though weighted with unpleasant knowledge, and his face grew completely solemn.

“Lisa Braeden,” he said blankly. Sam was surprised at how closed off and emotionless his friend was. This was a state he had not fully had since they first met. Then, he actually heard what the monotone voice said.

“What? No, Cas -”

“I shall attempt to locate her whereabouts immediately.” And he brushed past Sam without once glancing back at Dean, who, having apparently dropped a fork on the ground, was now crying, whispering, “I’m so sorry, love,” to said fork.

Fantastic. Now Sam was left with his emotionally wrecked and close-to-death brother crying over cutlery and self-loathing and emotionally repressed best friend believing himself incapable of being loved by said brother.

Now Sam had to figure out how to convince Cas to kiss his brother. Which might actually be a harder task than locating a random “true love” off the street.

After depositing Dean in his room (“It’s so wonderful that I have this room. Seriously, I love this room. And these sheets, and this pillow, and…” [insert disgruntled moose noises here]), Sam’s next act was to talk to Cas. Really, can it be harder than stopping the apocalypse?

Castiel was in the map room, angrily typing away at the laptop, frowning. Sam approached with caution and, grabbing a seat across from him, took a deep breath and closed the laptop. Cas quickly removed his fingers and clearly fixed Sam with a there-is-almost-nothing-stopping-me-from-smiting-you-right-now look. “Lisa isn’t Dean’s true love, Cas.”

His eyes were blazing with anger, but also some other emotions that Sam couldn’t quite catch. His stare was actually unnerving; he couldn’t understand how Dean managed to hold it equally for so long. “Sam. I am trying to help Dean. Of course his love is Lisa. Now remove your hands from this computer.” Cas’ words were clipped.

“Maybe he loved her, but he wasn’t _in love_ with her. There is a difference.”

“Then if you don’t think it is her, who is it?”

“You.”

Sam could pinpoint the exact moment when the angel comprehended that one word, for his composure lost all anger and regained bewilderment and, dare Sam thought, _hope_.

Cas opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to form words but finding himself unable. He took a deep, steadying breath, and finally said quietly, “It isn’t me, Sam. You are quite mistaken.”

Okay, so apparently this _was_ harder than stopping the apocalypse.

“Of course it’s you, Cas. Think about it. Dean never prayed or believed in anything until he met you. He only prays to _you_ , only believes in _you_. Maybe you’ve betrayed him, but we’ve all done that to each other. We forgive and move on. And, believe me, Dean only forgives people he cares about deeply, and those only living people are sitting at this table. Do you see? I know you love him, too.” Sam paused his tirade, waiting for a reaction.

Cas hung his head. “I can’t deny that that’s true, Sam, but he only thinks of me as a brother. He’s told me as such. Which, considering everything, it is a true honor to be held to the same standard as you, although I do wish for more. I do love him - am in love with him - and it is due to this that I recognize the only way to save him is to release the foolish hope that he loves me in return and try to track down the only substantial lead we have on his heart.”

Sam cleared his throat. “First of all, if the way he treats you ‘as a brother’ is the way he’s going to start treating me, then I don’t want to be his brother anymore. Seriously, he sits and stands so close to you, and touches you constantly, even when it isn’t particularly necessary. And some of the things he says to you I’d kill him if he told me - ‘Last person who looked at me like that, I got laid.’ Not exactly a brotherly quote.” He shivered in disgust just thinking about those “slash fans”.

Cas sighed, and Sam could tell his resolve was cracking. One final nail to add to the coffin… “You know, he’s been professing undying love to everything.”

Cas rolled his eyes impressively and muttered, “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Well, did you notice that he didn’t say anything different to you than normal?”

Apparently he didn’t notice, if the thoughtfulness clouding his countenance was any indication. Then his shoulders slumped. “It’s because I’m an angel, I’m sure.”

“It’s because he’s already so in love with you that he doesn’t need a curse to show it, since it’s how he acts around you all the time.”

 _Bingo_. Hope shown so strongly through him he practically glowed - not that that’s never happened before, but still. “Where is he?”

“His room.”

Without further ado, Cas stood and walked purposefully to Dean’s room, and Sam gave himself a high five.

 

 

Cas was filled with a strong sense of determination for the whole journey to his hunter’s room, though he was filled with the notion that the trip was not nearly long enough. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he pushed open the door and saw Dean gently caressing the chair beside his bed. “Oh, hey, Cas,” he said, again without any sort of verbal affection.

Without forming a response, Cas took two steps, grabbed Dean by his flannel, pushed him against the wall, and pressed a searing kiss to his lips that, though it only lasted a moment, left him dizzy and breathless. Dean smiled shyly, hands coming up to the angel’s waist, while said angel squinted at Dean’s face, trying to detect any noticeable sign that the curse was lifted. Promptly, Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head and, using the already present grip on him, Cas eased him to the ground.

Moments later, Dean grunted and his eyes blinked open. “Son of a bitch!” he yelped.

Well. This certainly seemed to be a noticeable sign.

 

 

As soon as Dean regained consciousness, he also regained all memories of the past three hours. _All_ memories. It was definitely all Sam’s fault. He was never going to let Dean live it down. Actually, it might be easier to forcibly bleach both his and his brother’s brains of this incident.

When he caught sight of the worried blue eyes in front of him, he also recalled a searing, hard kiss on his lips right before he passed out.

“Are you alright, Dean?” inquired the angel, helping him to sit on the bed.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Just embarrassed as hell, but whatever.

Tentatively, Cas asked, “What do you remember?”

Dean gulped. “Would you believe me if I said nothing?” Cas sighed dejectedly, clearly not, in fact, believing that statement (imagine that - a Winchester attempting to avoid feelings? That never happens). But Dean had more important questions, namely, “Why did you kiss me?”

Castiel, who was standing in front of him, turned so that his back was facing him. “It was the only way to break the curse. But I can pretend it didn’t happen if you want.” He sounded so sullen, but Dean was confused. Wasn’t the curse just going to wear off? He voiced this question, receiving a quizzical backwards glance. “Dean, the curse was going to kill you.”

“Sam never told me that!”

“Perhaps you were already underneath it before he discovered that fact. You had to, uh, be kissed by…” And that sentence ended in an intelligible mumble.

Dean stood, taking a step closer to his friend. “I’m gonna have to ask you to repeat that, buddy.”

Cas sighed an turned to face Dean, though he didn’t meet his eyes. “To break the curse, you had to be kissed by your true love, or else your heart would have turned itself to stone.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

Well then. That explained that, certainly. Not that Dean didn’t know how he felt about the angel, but he had no idea it was actually requited. And they were, apparently, _true_ loves. Huh. Regardless, Disney moment or not, they were both studiously avoiding each other’s gazes now.

Then Dean, flooded with newfound courage from not dying today, took a step forward, right into Castiel’s personal space. Suddenly, blue eyes locked with green, and the atmosphere became charged.

“I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen, Cas,” Dean said softly, cupping Cas’ face with one hand, “but I think it kinda sucks that our first kiss was because of a curse.”

Cas stepped forward; now their chests were touching, noses brushing, eyes still locked. “Well,” he replied, placing both hands on Dean’s waist, “perhaps we should do it again.”

“Yeah,” Dean breathed, breaking eye contact to stare at Cas’ plump lips that were slowly coming closer. His other hand came to rest at the back of his neck and, as gentle as could be, their lips met, and they were kissing. It was the absolute sweetest thing Dean had ever experienced in his whole life (which wasn’t really saying much, but still) and managed to turn his whole entire being into jelly. Their mouths moved perfectly in tandem, and it kind of felt like a spring rain - something that drenched your entire being in that, and only that. This kiss was filled with so much tender love and promises of so much more to come that Dean’s knees grew weak, and he was sure that if Castiel stepped away now he’d fall again. But then the need for air prevailed and their faces separated, and they both smiled at each other.

Dean was certain he’d never seen a more beautiful sight than the blue eyed, trench coated angel in front of him with kiss swollen lips.

Then those lips morphed into a smug grin. “So, was kissing me better than finding a potato resembling Chuck Norris? My feelings won’t be hurt if you say no.”

And that was the exact instant when Dean knew that he would never be allowed to forget the effects of this curse due to both his brother (who, come to think of it, was probably wondering what the hell was going on) and his angel (who never forgot _anything_ ).

Swell.

But hey, Dean could put up with a little (read: a lot) teasing if it meant he could see that rare smile grace (pun intended) Cas’ face. Unable to resist, the hunter leaned in for another kiss.

 

 

Sam checked his watch and noted, with a smug, self-satisfied grin, that those two had been gone for a while. He wondered, as his room was located rather close to Dean’s, if now was a good time to go buy noise cancelling headphones, since there were some things he just did not want to hear.

Right as he was seriously about to grab the Impala’s keys, Dean and Castiel emerged from the direction of the room, looking only a little more rumpled than usual, holding hands.

The brothers stared at each other before Dean cracked. “Alright Sammy, spill. I know you’re dying to say something.”

Sam, still grinning smugly, shook his head. “Nope, nothing.” A pause, during which Cas mouthed the words _Thank you_ at Sam. “Although, I was wondering. Do you wuv Cas as much as you wuv hugs? I’m just looking for a comparison here,” at which both he and Cas chuckled, while Dean remained unimpressed.

“You wanna know how much I love Cas?” he asked, then grabbed the angel for a passionate - too passionate for little brothers to bear witness - kiss, complete with roaming hands.

“Listen, I am super happy for you guys, but I do _not_ want to see it.” Sam covered his eyes dramatically, though he still heard the wet _pop_ as their mouths disconnected.

“Let’s make a pact to never bring up this incident again,” Dean proposed. Cas nodded, and Sam shrugged, opening his eyes. Then Dean squinted as Sam. “That means deleting all possible pictures and videos.”

Sam laughed. “Make me!” Then he smartly ran while Dean chased him, Cas merely looking on, entertained. But honestly, it didn’t matter if Dean gained possession of Sam’s phone or not, for he couldn’t delete the gold from it.

Thank Chuck for password protection.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't regret the puns, what can I say


End file.
